


I Will Walk The Earth (Searching For Candlelight)

by hemustbeprettylo_ki



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alice is a good bro, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aromantic, Aromantic Bella Swan, Asexual Edward Cullen, Asexuality, Autism Spectrum, Awesome Charlie Swan, BAMF Rosalie, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emmett Cullen is a good bro, Esme is best mother, Female Friendship, Fluff, Gen, Healthy Relationships, Humor, Jasper Hale is a good bro, LGBTQ Themes, Male-Female Friendship, No Bella/Jacob, No Smut, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Out of Character Bella Swan, Platonic Edward and Bella, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Self-Acceptance, Self-Indulgent, The Vampires still sparkle tho, Understanding Rosalie, Volturi are okay-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-03-10 08:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hemustbeprettylo_ki/pseuds/hemustbeprettylo_ki
Summary: An alternate version of TwilightI made the choice to move to Forks because I wanted to, not out of twisted sense of duty to my mother. I moved because I missed Forks and I missed my dad. I moved because I thought I would be able to live a quiet life...obviously I was wrong. Very wrong.





	1. Last Sight

**Author's Note:**

> I was playing around with the idea of Bella being slightly more like the seventeen year olds that I know including myself. I found Bella's character to be slightly lacking and wanted to experiment with the formula that SM gave the fandom. Obviously there is canon divergence especially regarding the time period because I have no real point of reference for 2005 so it'll probably be set around the present day but I will still try and keep it in line with canon. I will say this now. I am British. I have no experience with the American schooling system.

My mother drove me to the airport; she seemed nervous, constantly humming or shifting in her seat, almost uneasy in nature. The silence in the car as we drove was almost stifling, though that could’ve been the heat; she was supposed to have taken the car to the mechanic to get the air conditioning fixed, knowing my mother, she had probably forgotten.

I could tell she didn’t want me to leave; maybe it was the stress of me going away that had caused her to become even more forgetful than usual. My mother probably didn’t want to lose me, or make it seem like I would be ‘trapped’ in the same town that she had been until she left when I was barely six months old. I was leaving Phoenix, leaving the desert and the almost oppressive heat, for Forks, a small rainy town in Washington, surrounded by forest and mountainous regions. I wasn’t much of an outdoorsy person, but from the summers that I had spent in that small city with my father, I knew that Forks’ aesthetic definitely appealed to me more than Phoenix’s. I hadn’t seen my dad, Charlie, for two years now. I was supposed to go and visit him like I had done since my parents’ divorce had been finalised, unfortunately one of my dad’s oldest friends, Billy Black whose kids I used to play with every summer, had suffered complications as a result of his diabetes and now was bound to a wheelchair. My dad had decided to help Billy rehabilitate and I decided that me being there wouldn’t be helpful, so I didn’t see dad that summer, or the summer after that due to a sudden string of murders around Seattle. I had always gotten on better with my dad. He was gruff and didn’t tend to care for many words, instead he let his actions speak for him, although he wasn’t afraid to let me know through either face to face talking or calling that he loved me. It was nice. Charlie was a strong person, I knew I could lean on him and he would support me, unlike my slightly flighty mother. Yes, I think I’ll be just fine with Charlie.

 

It was to Forks that I was now destined for and despite those who I could only call acquaintances, nothing more, constantly saying that I was “exiling myself” I honestly couldn’t wait. There was something about Forks. Something about the constant cloud, the smell of fresh rain, the pine trees and the house. The quaint little house that I never got to grow up in, with its cozy sitting room and comfortably small kitchen complete with bright yellow cabinets that somehow fitted in seamlessly despite their ostentatious colour.

 

The car ground to a halt, we had arrived at the airport. My mother was silent as we walked through the slightly crowded lobby, dodging businessmen and women in sharp cut suits, and families with squealing children alike as we hurried towards my gate. There was over two hours before my flight was due to take off but I never liked to take chances of being late. We slowed to a halt, my suitcase grinding to a halt. I turned to face my mother; her forget-me-not blue eyes were wide and childlike, innocent in a sense. I felt somewhat guilty about leaving this wonderfully hare-brained woman alone but I knew that she had Phil. Oh God bless Phil. The man who was so unlike the others that my mother had dated. He didn’t try to supress her creativity, he embraced, encouraged it, made it blossom into wonderful beings that were my mother’s pride and joy. I still had a woven bracelet she had made during her phase of wanting to make jewellery. I had worn it today in remembrance, the scent of salt-water and leather was a pleasant reminded of home: the beach breeze air freshener was currently Renée’s favourite.

“Bella, you don’t have to do this. I mean are you sure that want to change everything so suddenly?” Renée clasped my pale hands in her tanned, worn ones, swinging them absently. Her bottom lip trembled minutely. I didn’t understand why she was so sad to see me go. She was often frustrated with me, my lack of friends and my utter loathing for social situations and tendency to completely melt-down at the slightest change to routine; but I suppose she is my mother, it is her job to worry and protect.

“No, I want to.” I replied almost stubbornly. I knew that if my mother pleaded and begged enough I would gave but my mind was at least semi-set on leaving. Of course I had yet to figure out how I was going to react to a complete change in environment and people and school and bedroom and doctor and _oh God should I really be doing this?_ By the hopeful expression on Renée’s face I could guess my expression had changed into one of panic and instantly my thoughts soured and I frowned slightly at the slight manipulation. “I think I should start going through security now, don’t want to be caught waiting too long.” I mumbled and my mind was still swirling with unanswered questions. Renée pouted before reaching up to bump a kiss on my cheek, it was wet and I crinkled my nose in response as she went for a hug. As soon as she was out of sight I would have to wipe my cheek.

Pulling back, Renée looked me in the eyes and clasped my shoulders. “Goodbye sweetie.” She sighed, caressing a strand of my long hair and tucking it behind the arm of my glasses.

“Bye mom,” I replied as I turned and walked away, carry-on rucksack on my back and suitcase catching the heel of my worn, previously blue but now a dishwater grey, converse.

Going through security was surprisingly fast and before I knew it, I was saying goodbye to the small purple suitcase full of my meagre clothing, bought on a kindergarten teacher’s salary and my books with pages worn with love and dog-eared beyond recognition.

I handed by ticket to the smiling lady at the gateway to my plane. Her dimples were cute; come to think of it she was very pretty. She handed my ticket back after scanning it. “Have a nice flight,” She beamed.

“I will,” I stammered out, an awkward flush decorating my cheeks as I stumbled into the walkway, clutching the straps of my battered rucksack. It was strange to think that in five hours’ time, I’d be back with my dad in the quaint, little house that I wished I had grown up in.


	2. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie is a good Dad™

Charlie hadn’t changed much in two years. He was still tall with slightly too long legs and arms, no beer belly in sight and only a few smatterings of grey in his dark brown hair and well-groomed moustache. Phil had a slight belly but I suppose that is because he did have a few years on my dad. A smile broke out on Charlie’s face as he watched me awkwardly stumble around people inside the small lobby of Port Angeles’ airport. “Hey Bella, good to see you again.” He pulled me into a hug. It was warm and comforting, he was so much taller than me and his familiar homely scent of rainwater sent a pang of nostalgia through my chest. Unlike with my mother, I gripped him back just as tightly, my small hands digging into the rough material of his tough brown coat declaring him to be Police Chief. I was home, finally.

“It’s good to see you too, Dad.” I replied although it was slightly muffled by the blue uniform Charlie was wearing. He clapped me on the shoulder as he pulled away, taking with him my rucksack. I had nothing of importance in it so I didn’t feel the surge of panic that I would have done if Charlie had tried to take my suitcase.

“Come on then kiddo; let’s get you back to mine.” Charlie chuckled warmly, wrapped a hand around my shoulders and steering me outside.

“Home,” I corrected, “Let’s go home.” Charlie didn’t reply, but I didn’t miss the smile that grew wider on his face, lighting up his dark brown eyes that I wished I had inherited. Instead I had been gifted with grey eyes like Grandma Swan and ashy blonde hair from Renée’s mother and father who had died in a plane crash when my mother was very young. My hair hadn’t been blonde for about three years now. As soon as I moved up to high school I begged and begged until my mother had finally given in and let me dye my hair. My first colour was pink, a soft pastel colour that faded incredibly quickly, then it was a lovely shade of emerald green which I kept for about eight months before I let it fade out and dyed it to the baby blue that it was now.

“So anyway,” Charlie began as we traipsed across the damp concrete of the car park, “How’s your mother?” He and Renée had tried to remain friends, but from what I had been told, when my mother left she hurt him really badly; I had even heard it from her that she regretted saying the things she did and that she shouldn’t have left with no warning the morning after their last argument.

“She’s fine, she still…” I paused, considering my choice of words carefully, “She’s still Renée.” I laughed awkwardly. I rubbed my elbow and winced, waiting for Charlie’s disapproval. Surprisingly all he did was chuckle quietly and guide me over to the cruiser.

Shaking his head as I tripped over nothing, Charlie opened the boot for me so I could shove in my rucksack and suitcase. “Why am I not surprised?” He asked sarcastically, shutting the boot with a muted thud. I smiled and got in the passenger seat, buckling myself and Charlie did the same.

                We sat in silence for a while and unlike the silence in my mother’s car, the quiet between Charlie and I was comfortable, both of us content to sit back and relax, to watch as the concrete streets of Port Angeles gave way to trees and deep forests.

 

About halfway through the journey home, Charlie cleared his throat, nudging me out of the daze I had entered. “I found you a car by the way. Bought it off Billy, seeing as he doesn’t really have a use for it anymore.” He chuckled. I frowned, I didn’t remember Billy owning a car, only a truck, and I think it was a Chevy. “Well I say car, it’s more of a truck really.” My mouth dropped open.

“Are you serious, I’m getting Billy’s truck?” Charlie practically beamed at the wide, disbelieving grin on my face. Objectively I could see why my mother fell for him, especially the deep dimples that appeared when he smiled.

“You’re getting Billy’s truck.” He confirmed, “You’re welcome,” He said, patting me on the knees after he quickly changed gear. I was still somewhat in a state of happy shock. Billy’s truck was his pride a joy, a beautiful burnt red colour, big and loud and it ran beautifully thanks to the time and effort that Billy placed into it. “Jake’s been keeping it running for ya’.” Charlie added, “He’ll be happy to know you’ve made it back here in one piece.” I laughed at this, Jake was a year younger than me and yet still somehow managed to have longer hair, which I was incredibly jealous of.

“I should call him,” I said absently, tapping my bottom lip with an index finger, “It’ll be nice to go down the rez again.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s missed you; that boy’s been the sole reason the truck’s still up and running, he’s got potential to be a great mechanic.” Charlie mused, running a hand down his face.

“Tired dad?” I teased. Charlie barked out a laugh.

“Yeah kiddo, just a bit.” Our conversation died out comfortably once more. I returned to admiring the beauty that was Forks’ wilderness, watching as sunlight created dappled patterns across the road.

 

Eventually we made it home and as the cruiser pulled up onto the driveway, I finally laid eyes upon the red beauty, park on the road outside. The cruiser’s handbrake was pulled up and the engine switched off and as soon as I knew it was safe, my seatbelt was off, my door swinging open and I was rushing up to the truck that had played such an integral part of my summers here. Almost reverently I brushed my hand over the slightly faded paint which used to be a deep ruby red. It was weather worn and the leather seats inside were a little cracked but it was _mine._

“Dad,” I croaked, emotion welling up inside my chest. “Thank you, seriously.” My cheeks ached from the amount of grinning and smiling I had done today but it was an ache that I treasured. It was only here in Forks with my dad and the guys from the Native Reservation that I was actually able to conjure anything other than a wry grin. Charlie coughed and shuffled on the spot.

“Yeah, I thought you might like it.” He may have looked uncomfortable but I could see the light glinting in his eyes.

“You’re gonna have to show me how to drive this beauty properly.” Charlie clapped my on the shoulder, gripping it firmly.

“Trust me; you’ll be fine with her.” And funnily enough, I really trusted him.

 

                Charlie left me to unpack while he made dinner, though before he went he did give my clothing a slightly disapproving once over. I’d be sure to ask about an allowance so I could stock up on clothes better suited for the winters in Forks. Thankfully my usual style was oversized check shirts, black jeans and maybe a graphic t-shirt with either my worn pair of Doc Martens’ or the Converse I was currently wearing. I think I owned three dresses and two of which were the same design, just over the knee with white cuffs and a pressed Peter Pan collar, and the other was a more formal 50s inspired dress made out of a heavy fabric and a built in petticoat. The two Peter Pan dresses I could probably get away with if I wore woollen tights, the same with my jeans but I knew that I’d need something more substantial than the flimsy anorak that I’d gotten from one of mom’s friends from work.

I was pleased to see that Charlie hadn’t changed the room the visit five years ago where I had decided I was tired of the eggshell blue and instead wanted the blue wall to be Slytherin green and the other three to be an off shade of white. My bed frame had also been repainted as it was only a cheap wood and now the slats in the head and foot boards were a still slightly shimmering silver and the outside of the frame was painted matte black. The large desk in the far most corner was still there, still slightly cluttered with old sketchbooks and even a scrapbook project that I had done on the British 1985 Pride March.

 

Taking in a deep breath, the old sandalwood smell of the house seeped into my senses and I felt at home. I was scared for what tomorrow would bring, wasn’t everyone on their first day of school, but I knew that as long as I had this house, I would be okay and that was enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who do not know: the British 1985 Pride March was incredibly significant. To sum it up the current Prime Minister, Mrs Margaret Thatcher herself, was privatising mines and shutting them down, many villages were literally dependant on the mining industry so in protest the Miner's Union went on strike. It was around this time that a group of lesbians and gay in London, lead by Mark Ashton, created a group know as LGSM (Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners) after the 1984 Pride March when they began to raise money, raising over £200 on that day alone. They kept trying to donate the money raised until the London group was twinned with the Neath, Dulais and Swansea Valleys Miners Support Groups. Unfortunately after an unflattering newspaper article that was leaked the unions decided to reject anymore donations. At the 1985 Pride March, LGSM and the breakaway group Lesbians Against Pit Closures were told they would have to march at the back because they carried signs that were "politically affiliated" until buses filled with people from all of the mining towns across Wales turned up to march. The sheer size of those affiliated with LGSM and LAPC meant that they were able to lead the Pride parade. It was a huge turning point and because of the support from the gay community for the miners, the Labour Party enshrined Gay and Lesbian Rights into their permanent Party Manifesto.


	3. First Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella begins her first day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait and any spelling errors, sixth form is hard my dudes. Also, I emphasise again: I AM NOT AMERICAN. I AM BRITISH. OUR SCHOOLING SYSTEMS COULDN'T BE ANY FURTHER APART. I KNOW NOTHING. that being said, enjoy the chapter :)

The next morning was quiet, according to the note left on the worn and slightly scorched kitchen table, Dad had already left for work so I was on my own until I would leave and drive to my first day. I quickly scarfed down a bowl of cereal, chugged my small glass of orange juice and padded back upstairs to get dressed. I didn’t want to be too early for school but perhaps it would be prudent to arrive that bit earlier to get a general feel of the school campus. I could see no possible con to familiarising myself with the school grounds.

It was quite a cold day today but still muggy with thick fog blanketing the ground and obscuring the sky. As I donned my only pair of thick woollen tights and the black Peter Pan collar dress, I wondered exactly what lay ahead.

 

                The truck roared to life, just I as remembered and I felt a sharp pang of nostalgia shoot through my chest.   It hurt; it was bittersweet and reminded me of summers that I wished would never end.

The truck, albeit a little noisily, backed off the drive smoothly and the rumbling engine remained a steady noise in the background as I drove in the direction of the school. Fiddling with the stereo was useless, all I could get was channels full of static and the screeching noise wasn’t pleasant on my already sensitive hearing. I’d have to ask Charlie for some CDs or maybe I could use some of my funds to buy a new stereo. I remembered hearing about ' _A Fever You Can't Sweat Out_ ' being released before I'd left but resolved not to buy it. Perhaps now I had stable funding I might actually be able to get a few more CDs to add to my rather small collection only consisting of ' _The Ramones' Greatest Hits_ ' and Fleetwood Mac's ' _Rumours_ '.

 

                By the time I arrived at the school, people had started to fill up the rather small car park but I found a space with relative ease. I parked in front of a small redbrick building with the words FRONT OFFICE printed in silver on a grey plaque. Putting on my handbrake and killing the engine, I sat back in my seat and sighed. The thought of starting again both terrifies and excites me; in Phoenix I wanted to leave: the heat was oppressive and my mother’s fretting ever more so but here in Forks, I wanted to stay. Forks was a chance for me to really find out who I was so yes I was terrified of what the day may bring, but a large part of my heart ached for something new.

    Zipping up the fleecy hoodie I had been able to find in a charity shop, I reluctantly left the warmth of the truck’s cab and stepped out into the cold. It was nice in a way, the cold was bracing but my body had never felt more alive as I slung my backpack over one shoulder and strode towards the double doors beside the plaque.

 

Inside the lobby was warmer than I had expected, the white lights uncomfortably bright and the sterile looking walls and floor reminded me of a hospital, it was somewhat of a shame, I like the rustic look the redbrick buildings had; my hope that the inside would reflect the architecture was crushed as soon as I stepped into the lobby.

   The office was a small waiting area, complete with orange plastic chairs, a cluttered notice board and a large clock with Roman numerals ticking away above the doorway into the main school building. A large counter hid another part of the room where three somewhat messy desks were placed haphazardly and only one was occupied by a red-haired lady possibly around her mid-thirties. The badge attached to her yellow blouse declared her to be Mrs Cope. She looked up as I approached the countertop, littered with wicker baskets full of brightly coloured paper.

   “Can I help you?” Mrs Cope asked with a wide smile. My voice caught in my throat so I nodded slowly, searching for the right words.

  “I’m Bella Swan; I’m supposed to be starting today.” My reply was wavering and quiet but Mrs Cope took it in her stride. Clearly she knew who I was, I knew Charlie would have been excited to know that I was coming to live with him and I felt the same way. I barely remembered anyone who wasn’t from the Reservation but I knew that there would be people in town who recognised my name at least, the long lost daughter of the Police Chief who’d been cruelly taken away by my hare-brained mother. Charlie told me when I was older that my mother’s departure with me was the talk of the town for months.

“Oh yes,” Mrs Cope confirmed after typing on her computer for a few moments. The ancient looking printer beside her whirred into action and painstakingly began to print off documents. “I’m just printing off your schedule and here is a map of the school.” A piece of yellow paper was thrust beneath my nose and I tried to make sense of the blue, red and black squiggles.

   After passing me a slip for my teachers to sign along with my timetable, Mrs Cope slowly went over all the routes I should take within the school, marking them clearly in varying shades of pastel highlighters. I liked pastel highlighters; they were less offensive to the eyes than the neon ones so commonly used.

                “Well I hope you enjoy your first day, I’ll see you at 3:45.” Mrs Cope said in farewell as I wandered towards the double doors that led back to carpark. I mumbled what I hoped sounded like confirmation over my shoulder as I stepped out into the cold once more.

 

A few more cars had filled up the spaces and many of them were as old as mine, not that I really minded if my truck was the oldest car there, it was mine and it served a purpose. Of course as there always was in schools, there was a shiny silver Volvo in the corner of the car park, next to it was a Jeep splattered with mud and looked like it was more suitable for off-roading than a drive to school. As I leant against the rusty-red front of my truck, I scanned the flimsy map I’d been given, trying to figure out my way to my first class, English Literature apparently. Right, according to the map, if I just go around the large building to my right – the cafeteria – then I should reach building 3 which is where my English Lit class is. Okay, sounds simple enough and thankfully Mrs Cope had actually coloured coded the lines she’d drawn to correspond with my lessons – Charlie had probably called ahead and told them about my complete lack of any map reading or orienteering skills. One summer spent in Forks, Charlie had sent Jacob and me to an orienteering lesson with a load of other kids in the area. Jake and I were the only team of two to get lost following out map and compass. Needless to say, Charlie had been wary of letting me follow map directions on my own ever since.

 

Pushing off from my truck, I shouldered my rucksack and strode off towards the cafeteria, making sure to stick to the paved pathway.

   Once I’d gone round the building I was pleasantly surprised to see another red-brick structure hidden behind the cafeteria with a large black number “3” painted on a white square by the building’s main door. My English room was 306 so I’m guessing that meant ground floor, classroom 6…maybe. Following the row of neat non-descriptive doors, I finally found myself in front of classroom 6, the plaque on the door declared the classroom to belong to “MR MASON”. Peeking through the small window I already saw some students scattered around the plain room and quickly pushed open the door.

   Mr Mason gawked at me after reading the small slip I had passed him, obviously I knew I would be the talk of the town but the stare he was giving me was making me incredibly uncomfortable, not to mention I wasn’t exactly fond of extended periods of eye contact. Thankfully after signing my slip, he sent me straight to the back of the class and I didn’t even have to introduce myself thank the fucking Lord.

 

Glancing at the list I’d been given, I was rather disappointed to see basic classical literature titles: _Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice_ to name a few _._ It was with some disgust that I realised there were multiple titles by Austen included, in fact a majority of the books were Austen. Great, I generally dislike the classical romances as a general rule. I was slightly mollified by the fact that one of the other titles was ‘ _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’_ which still holds a place as one of my favourite books. In my last school I’d essentially studied all of those texts and contemplated using my old essays. It wasn’t exactly cheating seeing as I’d done all of this to death before and could probably spend my time trying to improve on subjects that I desperately needed to…like maths.

I’d barely even noticed that Mr Mason had actually started to teach until he called my name.

“Bella, would you like to tell the class what your personal favourite novel is and explain why?” It was then I realised that as I’d been critiquing the reading list, Mr Mason had gone round the class, asking people’s favourite books and writing them up on the whiteboard along with a shorthand of the reason why.

“Mary Shelly’s _Frankenstein._ ” I replied confidently, spotting the attempt to catch me out. “I enjoy it because it raises interesting moral questions regarding the complexities of life and death, and the responsibilities creators have to their creations.” Mr Mason nodded, looking slightly put out.

“And may I ask whether you prefer a certain character to another?” The entire class’ focus seemed to switch to me as I chuckled slightly.

“I prefer the Monster as I find Victor Frankenstein to be overtly melodramatic and almost certainly a manipulator of the frame narrative.” I stated clearly, wrinkling my nose in revulsion. Frankenstein ended up irritating me by constantly lamenting his bad luck…and for ‘falling ill’ any time something mildly inconvenienced him.

“But isn’t Frankenstein the protagonist though?” A boy sat three rows in front and one to the side asked with a smirk.

“Nope, in my opinion I don’t think Shelley intended the novel to have a protagonist as each of them commits foul acts against the other.” I quickly shot back and Mr Mason intervened before a debate occurred.

“Well Miss Swan that is certainly an interesting choice although not covered in this course.” Mr Mason said awkwardly before he turned back and began to ask other people whom I quickly disregarded as most of them answered with Austen novels and instead began to work through the analysis of passages handout I’d been given.

However there was one answer that made me pause in my working, a soft Texan drawl sounded from just to my left and I lifted my head to find the source. It came from someone sitting beside the window on the same row as me but a few tables across. I couldn’t see his features but his answer did make me grin, “Bram Stoker’s _Dracula._ ” While I was more of a fan of Anne Rice’s _Interview with a Vampire,_ I did enjoy reading Stoker’s work, it was a close favourite just after _The Portrait of Dorian Grey_ by Oscar Wilde. I missed the explanation that the boy offered for his choice but his response did make me wonder if any of the students in my class were actually being truthful or did they take one look at the reading list, find a Wikipedia summary or an article discussing the novel they thought looked easiest and just repeated that considering that the people following had remarkable similar thoughts regarding the interesting points of the novel.

 

             At last the bell rang and although the harsh clang made me jump in my seat, I was eager to leave the classroom and find my way to my next class which would hopefully be more exciting as I had been able to pick two electives, the one I had now was Government and Politics and my other was Art which I wouldn’t have until tomorrow morning.

As I stepped outside the classroom and began to study my map a throat cleared in front of me. There stood a gangly boy with a smattering of acne and incredibly dark hair, he smiled at me tentatively. “Hi, you’re Isabella Swan right? I’m Eric Yorkie.” He awkwardly juggled with the folder in his arms before holding out a hand for a handshake.

“Just Bella, please.” I replied, shaking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh okay, sorry,” I waved off his apology, “I can help you find your next class if you want, where is it?” He offered with a grin.

“Government and Politics in building 6.” I read off my timetable and trying to decipher the colour key Mrs Cope had drawn on my map. Eric nodded and gestured at my map.

“Actually the quickest way to building 6 would be to go straight through this one and around building 4 which coincidentally, I’m in next.” Eric said, showing me on the map which way to go. “I can walk you to 4 but like, I gotta get into my class early or else the teacher will actually murder me.” At his slightly fearful look I couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

“Well we wouldn’t want that.” I replied, slinging my bag more securely onto my shoulder.

“No we would not,” Eric returned as he began to lead the way through building 3, occasionally he broke the silence with a random fact or a little tip about how to get around the school campus quicker but for most of the walk we stayed in amicable silence.

    Once I said goodbye to Eric at building 4 and I found my way to building 6, the rest of the morning seemed to pass in the same fashion. I was correct in my prediction that Government would be my favourite subject of the day. Not only was my teacher incredibly cynical of the US government as a whole, he also allowed for healthy, structured debate between students and while I did not speak in the debate, some points that I had written down were featured in our staged debate and won my team a decent amount of points.

Unfortunately Trigonometry was not nearly as stimulating as Government and I was already certain that as I wasn’t exactly proficient in trig, Mr Varner already held a grudge against me. As it stands, he was the only teacher to make me stand and introduce myself to the class. Thankfully he was satisfied with me stating my preferred name and where I’d moved from and quickly ushered me into my seat afterwards.

 

I’d made acquaintances with a curly-haired girl who sat next to me in trig and Spanish, named Jessica and she’d been kind enough to offer me a seat with her and some friends during lunch. When we stood up to leave the class I was a little surprised to see how tiny Jessica was and honestly she looked as though my relatively short, stubby fingers would meet if they wrapped around her waist. As it stood, her dark eyes looked a little too large for her heart-shaped face and I was slightly concerned about the dark shadows where her collarbones jutted out.

   Jessica led me to a table which was relatively full but she introduced me to everyone. There was Angela, the pastor’s daughter, seemingly quiet and reserved but I quickly learnt she had a wicked sense of humour, then it was Lauren and her friend Samantha, Lauren was tall with white-blonde hair and Samantha had reddish-brown hair, neither girls seemed to speak to me other than the basic hello we shared and I wasn’t going to force my presence upon them. The other girl seated at the table was a lively red-head by the name of Katie, she spoke quickly and her green eyes seemed to light up with her enthusiasm, paired with her natural flush and the spray of freckles over her nose, Katie was incredibly attractive. Perhaps if I was actually interested in the concept of relationships other than friendships and any inkling that Katie was anything other than heterosexual I may have tried my luck.

 

It was in this very lunchroom, sitting at a table where I was fast becoming acquainted with everyone but Lauren, and by extension Samantha, that I first laid eyes upon the Cullen family.


	4. Migraines and Mysteries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella adjusts to her classes but the day doesn't end well

There were five of them, three males, and two females. All of the men were tall, the one with dark curly hair was built like a brick shithouse, the one with collar-length sandy brown hair was lithe but there was something about him that seemed dangerous, the last of the men could only really be described as a boy. Less rugged than the other two, who I presumed were his brothers; this member of the family did seem tall but he was also skinny and seemed to not possess the sheer muscle mass of the tallest or the broad shoulders of the blond. His bronze coloured hair was rather messy and appeared to have little rhyme or reason as to where the strands stuck up and I was reminded of my hair when I’d made the decision to cut it to just past my earlobes when I’d dyed it for the first time. There was something about this one too, maybe it was the way his eyes and cheekbones were shadowed, it almost made him look sickly, was he anaemic or something?

The females couldn’t be more different if they tried. One was even tinier than Jessica, with wide eyes and spiky black hair, similar to the length mine was before it grew out and the other was…absolutely stunning. She was statuesque and probably rivalled the bronze haired brother in terms of height; her hair was golden blonde and fell in gentle waves to about her mid-back, contrasting so lovely to the crimson blouse she wore.

 

At first glance the family appeared to be regular people (albeit rather beautiful people) sitting together. As I took a longer look though I began to spot inconsistencies. For a start there seemed to be something otherworldly about them, they were too perfect, doll-like and not exactly in a good way. Their features seemed too angular, too sharp and I was reminded of the Elves from Tolkien’s books. They sat stiffly and rarely seemed to fidget, instead every move seemed like it was calculated and they seemed to exaggerate their breathing if the movements of their shoulders were any indication. There was also the fact that two of the three males seemed to look slightly pained and although I wasn’t a fan of crowds, I knew that simply disliking large numbers of people couldn’t cause expressions of agony.

I watched half in fascination and half because the rest of my table had dissolved into talk about a dance happening soon, as the family rose in sync, striding over to dump their uneaten lunches into the bin and stack their trays. The black haired female seemed to walk like she was dancing on air; twirling in a manner that reminded me of an unconscious action I used to do before my mother essentially trained me to stop. Charlie didn’t mind though and sometimes Jake would spin around with me. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to spin so fast I got sick it just…I guess it just kinda felt nice.

The family quickly left through the door and into the still grey outside. I frowned and tuned back into the conversation just in time for the bell to ring.

 

Angela was kind enough to remind me where Biology was, thankfully she was in the same class as me and I was grateful that I’d know someone. As we entered, Angela went to sit at a black-topped table next to a blond haired boy that I vaguely recognised. All the tables were full except one. The bronze-haired boy from lunch was sitting at the only table with a spare seat. The teacher gestured for me to take a seat, already beginning to set up for his lecture. I quickly hurried down the aisle between the lab tables and narrowly dodged tripping over a book just lying on the floor.

“Stupid place to leave a fucking book,” I mumbled, glaring at the floor, trying to not acknowledge the disappointed sigh on the boy whose table the book was by, the dick was probably hoping someone would trip. “Niño estúpido,” I muttered as I took my seat, recalling one of the few Spanish insults I actually remembered. Jake and I had spent an entire week one summer just learning insults in various languages and some of them I still managed to remember.

I noticed that the boy from lunch had gone rigid in his seat and was looking at me with panic in his strangely yellow coloured eyes. Suddenly feeling incredibly awkward I gave a small wave with my index and middle fingers and a smile. That was the extent of my social interaction skills unless the other person initiates the meeting.

         For the rest of the lesson we worked in silence, the boy just continued to write notes, albeit with a white-knuckled grip on his fountain pen, in beautiful calligraphy that I couldn’t help but envy. Mine was neat enough but it had the awful habit of changing completely depending on the type of pen I used.

     Sooner than I expected, the lesson drew to a close and as soon as the bell rang, the bronze-haired boy was up and out of his seat. I packed my things up rather slowly and I began to dread my next and final lesson which was Gym.

“Hey, you’re Bella Swan, right?” I looked up to see the boy with spiked blonde hair, who had been sitting next to Angela during lunch. “Hi, I’m Mike,” He introduced with a cheery grin.

“Hi,” I replied shortly; my ability to interact was disappearing down the drain and I could already feel the closing of my throat which meant I was not going to succeed in creating conversation much.

“So do you need help finding your next class?” Mike offered.

Biting my lip, I nodded, practically forcing my answer out, “Yeah, I’ve got gym next.” Mike grinned again.

“That’s awesome, I’ve got gym too, come on I can show you.” He didn’t really leave me any room to say no but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth especially since the bright lights of the Biology classroom were beginning to cause my eyes to sting and a funny sound erupted in my ears.

 

Mike was nice enough and the PE teacher found me a uniform before instructing me to just sit on the bleachers for today and observe the rules of volleyball. I wasn’t the best at sports and didn’t enjoy them as much as my dad did but I could appreciate certain ones like rugby; for some reason show-jumping had always appealed to me as well. Despite not having to play the game, the squeak of rubber soles on the floor, the yelling and shouting and sharp whistles just succeeded in creating a pounding migraine that throbbed behind my eyes and when the Coach was free for a minute I gingerly made my way down. Thankfully, the coach took one look at my probably pallid, sweaty face and nauseated expression before he excused me for the last forty-five minutes. Thankfully the gym was just next to the front entrance building and I quickly stumbled into the red-brick building, squeezing my eyes shut at the offensive lighting. I stayed leaning against the wall for a while, focusing on breathing deeply and imagining the tension behind my eyeballs loosening, visualisation didn’t tend to work but I was honestly desperate.

The sickness feeling in my stomach ceased thankfully and I shuffled over to the front desk area where a certain bronze-haired boy was waiting, probably to speak to Mrs Cope who was currently on the phone. As I approached, the boy’s head snapped to me, fear in his queer yellow eyes once more. This time I couldn’t be bothered to wave and just slumped into a hard plastic chair, burying my face in my hands, trying to hide from the bright lights.

“Are you alright?” A slightly choked voice asked. Risking a glance upwards despite the loud sound of protest my eyes seemed to make, I met the strained gaze of the boy.

“Migraine,” I managed to force out, the sound of my own voice making my ears ring. The boy bit his lip and I noticed that the colour of his lips didn’t drain around his teeth; instead they remained the same pinkish colour, well that was weird.

“Would you like some water?” He was staring at the floor and constantly clenching and unclenching his hands, a move I was incredibly familiar with in times of stress – usually around my mother.

“I’ve got some in my bag.” Groaning, my head dropped back down into my hands and for a while once more there was silence, until I heard the tell-tale sound of a zip being opened and something cold and silky tapped my hand.

Squinting down at the hand in front of me, I was slightly surprised to see my water bottle held in the boy’s grasp. Absently taking the bottle, I noticed how the bones in his hand seemed to be worryingly defined. My hands shook as I unscrewed the cap but took grateful gulps as soon as it was opened. My migraine lessened slightly and I sighed. “Thank you,” I said lowly, not wanting to look up for fear of the bright lights hurting my eyes any more than they already did.

“No problem,” The boy replied, rocking on the balls of his feet and glancing around the reception area. Mrs Cope was nowhere to be seen. “Do you need anything else? Painkillers maybe?” I shook my head, smiling slightly.

“I haven’t got any with me but tha-,” I cut myself off as the boy held out a packet of Tylenol. When had he gotten those, I hadn’t even seen him move. “Thanks,” I said, taking the two small pills he offered. The boy just replied with a strained smile, hefting the strap of his rucksack up from where it had slipped. “I’m Bella by the way, I’m sorry I don’t know your name…”I trailed off hoping he’d fill in the blanks.

“Edward, I’m Edward Cullen.” He sounded slightly puzzled when he told me his name but I was more concentrated on successfully swallowing the pills. For some reason my body didn’t like me swallowing pills which is why Charlie kept a stock of liquid children’s Tylenol or Calpol.

“Well it’s nice to meet you officially, Edward, wish it was under better circumstances.” I said wryly, after finally managing to swallow the pills.

“Nice to meet you too,” He mumbled softly, something strange shadowing his bright yellow eyes and I was instantly curious about what exactly was causing the look.


	5. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella and Charlie have a Talk.

Charlie wasn’t surprised when I stumbled through the front door, barely making it to the downstairs bathroom before I promptly emptied my stomach of the meal I had eaten at lunchtime. Instead he merely held my hair, rubbed in between my shoulder blades as I coughed and spluttered and when I finished heaving, he handed me a chilled bottle of water which I used to swill round my acrid tasting mouth and then pressed to my aching head, moaning in relief.

  “Gonna be honest, I thought I would have gotten a call earlier on in the day.” Charlie muttered as he helped me to my feet, I was a little shaky but was no longer in danger of passing out or vomiting for the second time. “Did you drive like this?” Charlie asked, guiding me over to the sofa where I collapsed onto the well-loved piece of furniture and sprawled out ungracefully.

“Uhuh,” I replied eloquently; flopping one arm over my eyes to block out the light from the small lamp over in the corner.

“Bella,” Charlie chided, “You should have called, Christ, what if you’d gotten into and accident.” He lifted my limp legs up and sat on the end of the sofa, placing my feet into his lap and rubbing at my stiff calves. It was the easy parental relationship with Charlie that I missed the most with my mother. I wasn’t a big fan of my mother’s boa constrictor hugs but Charlie’s easy-going tactile nature was nice.

Instead of replying to my dad properly I just grunted, hoping he’d just leave the matter be and let me sleep. Instead he snorted and stood back up, a move which I protested with a groan, he strode off presumably in the direction of the kitchen and clanged about in the cupboards for a while.  He returned rather quickly despite the noise he made and before I had chance to react, took my arm from across my face and replaced it with a flexible cool pack.

  “You’re the best.” I croaked, unscrewing the cap of the water bottle that I had clenched in a white knuckled grip and taking a few large gulps. 

“I know I am kiddo. You try and sleep, and I’ll get the dinner on, sound good?”

I wasn’t sure where Charlie was in the living room so I just raised a half-hearted thumbs-up in the general direction of his voice.    For some unknown reason, my mother had been under the impression that in the nearly sixteen years that she had been gone, Charlie was still unable to cook and had thought that I would have been doing the cooking for him when I moved back. Begrudgingly I had to admit that my dad was by far the more superior cook, having the resources to be able to buy cookbooks and try out new recipes especially with the fish he, Harry and Billy caught on fishing weekends.  My mother had done the best she could, raising me on a primary school teacher’s salary but she had been unable to afford anything but clothes and books from the charity shop. Occasionally I would do odd jobs for the elderly neighbours, things like mowing lawns or just reading to them which is how I got most of my book collection. Mrs James had been an elderly woman who lived two doors down from us and she’d enjoyed having me over after school to help her with baking cookies for her grandkids that lived in Michigan and then taking them to the couriers’ office to send them off.  When she passed away, I was surprised to come home to one of her children with a large box of books that had been given to me in her will. I missed Mrs James, she was nice, and her house always smelt like lemon shortbread.

    As I reminisced about my old neighbours, I couldn’t help but yawn and slowly, I drifted off to sleep. The Tylenol probably helped some too.

 

                When I woke up, Charlie had apparently gone round the house and turned off the main lights, sticking to the small table lamps and the small spotlights under the yellow cabinets in the kitchen. He was humming softly as he moved around the kitchen, plating up the meal for this evening which appeared to be spaghetti with spinach and cubes of soft-looking cheese. I don’t know why my mother expected the Chief of Police to survive on burger meals and takeout – that was incredibly counterproductive with his job. I guess she’d never bothered to find out about him after the divorce, whenever they spoke on the phone it was always about my mother and her latest fads, never about my father. While I wasn’t exactly great at sports, on many occasions I had joined my father when he did his circuit training at the gym in Port Angeles, and last time I was here he began giving me self-defence training after Ii told him about one boy at my school who kept trying to touch me. When I came back from summer break, I’d given the boy a good enough reason to not come near me again, my fist in his solar plexus was apparently warning enough to him and the other idiots in my year to never try anything like that with me again.

   I sat up slowly, holding to now lukewarm pack to my head, relieved that the hammering throbbing had departed and now it was more of a soft ache which I could deal with. My mouth was dry and I was certain my breath reeked of bile but now my stomach was rumbling, demanding food and honestly, who was I to deny it. The pasta looked really good.   I stood up gingerly, taking tentative steps just in case I pitched forwards unexpectedly, it wouldn’t be the first time. As I hobbled over, Charlie looked up from where he was just setting out two worn place mats and the cutlery, the condiments already in the centre of the small, round wooden table.

      We started eating in comfortable silence, I was nearly ravenous and practically devoured my food, and Charlie ate at a more sedate pace but chuckled as I wiped sauce away from my mouth, smacking my lips.

 “So, other than the migraine,” He started, “How was the rest of your school day?”

I paused, honestly the migraine had wiped away any memory of the day but I did remember some key details. “It was pretty good, I made some acquaintances, Jessica and Angela seem nice, so do Mike and Eric.” I didn’t bother with their last names, Forks had such a low population Charlie probably already knew them and their parents too.

“That’s good kiddo, yeah Angela is the pastor’s daughter and Mike’s parents run the outdoor shop in the centre. They’re good folks.” I now remember who Mike was. Charlie and I would visit his parents’ store before we would go fishing with Jake and Billy.

“Uhuh, hey, do you know the Cullens?” I asked, wondering if my father had any information that would have been more reliable than high school gossip and rumour.

“Yeah, I do, Dr Cullen’s kids.” He clarified, smiling at my shrug; I had no idea who this Dr Cullen was. “He’s a new-ish doctor down at the hospital. His kids are all adopted but they’re good kids.”

“They seem nice enough; I sit next to Edward in biology.”

“Edward? He the youngest right?” Charlie asked through a mouthful of spaghetti. I nodded, shovelling a forkful of peas into my mouth, chewing quickly.

“I think so, they’d don’t really seem to socialise, kinda like they don’t really fit in.” Honestly I knew the feeling, the anxiety I felt in social situations and my tendency to shut down at the slightest inconvenience didn’t exactly make me prime friend material. Charlie’s expression turned thunderous and he swore slightly under his breath.

“This damn town, I swear to God.” His moustache practically bristled with every hissed word. “We’re so lucky to have a doctor like him, the man could have a job at any hot-shot hospital being paid ten times as much as he makes here but we’re goddamn lucky he don’t want that.” Honestly I’d rarely seen Charlie so het up about something since I’d told him about the bullying I’d experienced in Phoenix and the time Renée accidently left me at a petrol station.

  “He is a great doctor, I’d even go as far to say that he’s the best I’ve seen in years, and his wife is just as brilliant. Mrs Cullen has been a huge help to the community projects, always willing to help out with the PTA and primary school bake sales, hell she’s even designed a new youth centre for _free_ , can you imagine!” I could not, not in Forks where although the people did seem nice, I knew as well as anyone that in a small town like this, people will do anything to get ahead or get out. Which I really never seemed to understand. Why would you want to leave Forks, especially not where Charlie and I lived, it was a beautiful place and I liked small towns.

   “You said all his kids are adopted…” I trailed off, hoping Charlie would continue. He nodded, taking a gulp of his water, if he wasn’t so fit I’d be worried about his blood pressure.

“I was kinda worried y’know,” He chuckled self-deprecatingly, “I guess because of the stereotypes around adopted kids but those kids have proven this old man wrong. The two blondes are siblings and the two youngest are too, Edward and the other girl, I think the burly one is related to Mrs Cullen somehow though or is it Edward…anyway, they’ve all got some kind of troubled past and I’ll admit I misjudged them. They’re all good kids with squeaky clean records and cause no trouble for anyone. They do bonding the old fashioned way, like we do yanno, camping trips and stuff.”  I liked the idea of the Cullens even more now, too many families in Forks spent holidays outside of the town, going to hotter climates like Florida, which was all well and good, for people who actively enjoyed the heat and sunshine, which I did not.

“Edward helped me today,” I decided to input. Charlie raised his eyebrows, wordlessly telling me to continue. “I got excused from P.E. so I went to the office to hand in my paperwork and he was there. I sat down and he got me my water bottle and gave me a couple of Tylenol.”

  “That was very nice of him; you’ll thank him when you see him next. Tell him the Police Chief sends his thanks for helping his daughter in her time of need.” He barked his usual boisterous laugh, the lines around his eyes crinkling up and deepening. I couldn’t help but giggle along with him, having missed the easy-going nature of our relationship

“They’re all very attractive.” I mused; glad my dad was completely fine with my sexual attraction being anyone who was intelligent enough to keep up with me and my utter lack of romantic attraction to anyone, like at all. I desired no relationship beyond friendship with anyone. I think my dad was more than happy with how the worked, if I was being honest. Charlie laughed again, nodding.

“You should see Dr Cullen, I’ll say it’s a damn good thing he’s married else he’d had an even bigger fan club than he does now.”

“Uhuh and what about Mrs Cullen.” To my father’s credit, he didn’t even blush or stutter, just nodded again sagely, stroking his moustache.

“I think their whole family are weirdly attractive if I’m honest. Mrs Cullen is very pretty though.” I just hummed, returning my attention back to more important matters, such as my food. Charlie was apparently on the same wavelength as he broke off a large piece of the French stick out on the table and devoured most of it in one impressive bite.

  “You know dad, I was thinking.”

“Oh no, that’s dangerous.” He quipped teasingly. I gasped in mock offence and clutched at my chest dramatically, swooning backwards in my chair, grinning at Charlie’s fond amusement.

“Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted,” I mock glared at him, stifling a smile as he raised his hands into the air. “I was thinking that we should do a camping trip again, maybe invite Jake and Billy.” Charlie grinned, nodding rapidly.

“Hell yeah, we’ll have to wait till late spring, early summer, I reckon but sounds good Bells!” Charlie practically crowed, his brown eyes lighting up and sparkling. I had no idea how much he liked camping but any excuse to spend time with him I would take. His enthusiasm was contagious, his beaming smile was too and as I helped him wash the dishes last night, I reflected on the camping trips we used to take with Billy and Jake, in the truck that I now owned, Jake and I riding in the bed along with the tents and sleeping bags, Billy and my Dad belting out the wrong lyrics to twangy country songs.  Soon, I told myself, I’ll get to relive that again soon. And honestly, I couldn’t wait.


End file.
